


A Shared Point of Interest

by Aki (Akiko_Natsuko)



Category: Sherlock Holmes (Downey films)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Comfort, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Protectiveness, Realization, Serious Injuries, Understanding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-07 10:37:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17364428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akiko_Natsuko/pseuds/Aki
Summary: After her husband returns from yet another escapade bruised and battered, Mary intends to have words with Holmes about his inability to keep John out of trouble. Instead, she finds that she and the detective might have something in common after all.





	A Shared Point of Interest

Mary sighed as she tucked the blankets around her husband, one hand lightly brushing against his bruised face for a second before she gracefully rose to her feet. She glanced across at the clock on the cabinet and frowned irritably, it was just after midnight, but she knew that she wouldn't get to sleep just yet. With a last fleeting glance at her slumbering husband she slipped out of the room and headed down the stairs.

Seated in the living room with a cup of tea she allowed herself to muse over her husband and … that man. John and Holmes had been out on a case again, leaving her home alone once more, not that it happened all that much nowadays as the detective did seem to be trying to reduce the amount of time he took John away from her for. Then less than an hour ago John had returned, bruised and battered, although in reality less so than he had on some of his previous escapades. Holmes had already patched him up and had apologised sincerely enough to Mary for returning him in such a condition before disappearing off back to his rooms on Baker Street, leaving her to get her husband into bed and to check his wounds for herself.

    For all of her acceptance of Holmes and his and John's escapades, there was one fact that annoyed her, and for some reason, on these evening it was driving her beyond irritation. And that was the fact that Holmes never seemed to be as injured as her husband, take tonight, for instance, the only evidence she had seen of injury was a small cut on his cheek and the beginning of a black eye. While John was a mass of bruises and cuts and had a badly bruised side. She knew that Holmes was an excellent fighter and that his incredible mind allowed him to read and anticipate movements in ways that her husband would never be able to. But she was entrusting her husband to his care, and therefore his skills should be able to protect John better than what they appeared to be doing so.

    Now thoroughly irritated she resolved that she would pay the detective a visit in the morning, knowing that John would sleep later than usual after his actions this evening. She would make sure that Holmes knew that if he did not take better precautions, then her blessing for her husband's continued participation in his cases would be removed. Somewhat appeased by this plan of action she finished her tea, and headed up to bed, checking once more on her husband who was sleeping the sleep of the dead.

*****

     True to her word she was up and out first thing in the morning, but she knew from experience that the detective would be awake, he never slept much especially during or just after a case. There were only a few people about as the cab drew up to Baker Street, but she was unsurprised to find Mrs Hudson awake.

"Good morning," she said cheerfully as the older women ushered her inside.

"What brings you here so early Mrs.Watson?" The housekeeper asked curiously. Usually, it was the Doctor that visited early in the morning.

"Mary please," Mary said with a warm smile, once again wondering how this woman was able to put up with Holmes." And I'm here to see Holmes."

"I haven't heard much from his rooms this morning which is unusual," Mrs Hudson said with a frown glancing upwards towards where her most troublesome lodger lived. "But I am sure that he is awake, I'll bring you up some tea."

"Thank you," Mary smiled and headed up the stairs, wondering what kind of mood the eccentric man would be in this morning. However, as she reached the doors to his room, she was alarmed to spot blood on the door frame and door handle, she knew that for once none of John's injuries had bled and that Holmes had said that he'd brought him straight home. Therefore this blood must belong to Holmes, but he had seemed uninjured when they’d spoken the night before.

    Anxiously she knocked on the door, her ears straining for an answer. When there was no reply she knocked again slightly louder, she didn't want to burst in and catch him in an awkward situation – heaven knew she hadn't forgotten her experience with Mycroft. However, when there was still no answer, she cautiously pushed the door open and stepped into the poorly lit room. As her eyes adjusted to the reduced light, she noticed the almost unnatural silence in the rooms and as she gazed around, she spotted more blood leading towards John's old room.

"Holmes," she called softly even as she moved forward, but there was still no answer, and growing more and more alarmed she sped up, her eyes widening with horror as she turned into the other room. Holmes was sprawled on the ground, leant against a cabinet with the spilt contents of one of John's medical kits scattered beside him… He was scarily pale, his eyes shut as he pulled in weak breaths and her gaze was instantly drawn to the red drenching the left side of his chest.

"Mrs Hudson!" She cried loudly as she dashed to his side, falling to her knees she gingerly pulled away the soaked bandage that he had managed to place over the wound. Trying to ignore her slight nausea she carefully pulled back the remnants of his shirt, her eyes narrowing at the wound on his shoulder, it was long and deep-reaching from his shoulder almost down to his trouser line. Blood was still leaking from it albeit sluggishly, noticing this she reached out to grab another bandage and pressed down on the wound, noticing as she did so that he didn't react.

    A loud gasp notified her to the housekeeper's arrival, and she quickly spoke although her gaze remained fixed on Holmes.

"I need some water and cloth, and you need to send for John," she said, abstractly surprised by how steady her voice was and relieved when the housekeeper left to carry out her orders without debate. Leaving her alone with the man that she had come to berate, she realised how absurd her concerns had been, of course, Holmes took better care of John than he did himself. Hadn't he proven that with his actions in Switzerland? Or when he snuck into the hospital just to check on John even though he was wanted by the police? However, her concern now lay with this infuriating man, she had spoken to him last night, and he had seemed so normal, yet there was no doubt in her mind that this wound had come from their fight…and therefore he had stood on her doorstep, apologising for John being bruised and battered while he was slowly bleeding. "For such a brilliant man you are an idiot," she whispered, praying that John was awake and that he would come quickly.

"Here Mary," Mrs Hudson had returned and lay a bowl of water and a pile of cloths next to the women. "I sent one of the boys for the doctor," she added, and Mary nodded gratefully.

"Can you soak one of the clothes and put it on his forehead?" she asked as she reached out and soaked another cloth, carefully starting to clean around the bandage she was still holding in place, knowing that John would need to be able to see what he was doing. Wordlessly the housekeeper complied, somewhat pale-faced as she saw the blood-stained bandage on the floor, and the growing stain on the one Mary was holding in place.

****

    After what seemed hours, but had in fact been less than half-an-hour they heard the welcome voice of Watson ringing through the house as he rushed up the stairs.

"Mary?" He cried as he entered the room, but immediately his focus swung to his friend and his face paled in alarm as he rushed to Holmes's side. Releasing control of the patient Mary moved aside without a word, moving to stand beside the hovering housekeeper.

"Has he been conscious?" Watson demanded even as he pulled the bandage away and began examining the cut, with a fierce scowl darkening his face as he took in the damage.

"No, he didn't even respond to pressure on the wound." The scowl on her husband's face deepened at that, and she could see the concern and fear hidden behind his intense expression.

"Holmes, Holmes," he called sharply tapping the detective's face, and after a couple of seconds, he was rewarded by the faintest twitch. "Move the covers," he ordered suddenly gesturing at the bed, and the two women hastened to obey, once the bed was ready he carefully manoeuvred the too-light detective onto the bed, wincing as his own aches and pains reminded him of their presence. Ignoring them, he settled Holmes onto the bed before retrieving the contents of his medical kit. With steady hands that belied his concern, he threaded his needle and set to work closing up the horrendous gash, only faintly aware that the two women had retreated to the living room.

    Once he was finished, he wiped the area around the wound clean and applied carbolic before gently wrapping the detective in bandages. Finished, he reached out and checked the detective's pulse, frowning at the weak beat beneath his fingers and praying that Holmes hadn't lost too much blood. Carefully he pulled the covers back over Holmes carefully tucking them in tightly around the trembling detective, highly aware that shock was a risk now. Running a hand over his face, he reached out once more to tap the detective's face.

"Holmes! Holmes! Sherlock!" Finally, the twitch returned, and after a few agonising moments, he was rewarded by the detective's dark eyes opening to slits.

"Wat…" Holmes' voice was weak and raspy, and his eyes were sliding shut before he could even finish a single word, but even that was enough to renew hope.

"Rest easy old chap," Watson said softly before moving away to fetch a chair which he sat beside the bed where he would be able to watch for any changes. Sighing he fell into the chair and closed his eyes as the terrible emotions he had felt at the sight of the collapsed, blood covered detective were finally allowed past his duties as a doctor, and he found himself trembling. How had he managed to miss this? He had checked for obvious wounds after Lestrade had carted off the culprits and the detective had seemed fine, busy mocking the inspector and babbling about his deductions while at the same time checking on him and helping him limp out of the building. Hell, Holmes had even patched him up as best as he could in the cab on the way to Cavendish place, arguing that Mary would not be best pleased if they were out later due to detouring to Baker Street. What on earth had Holmes been thinking?

****

Several hours later:

    A faint noise from the bed drew Watson from his thoughts, and he darted forward hopefully, his eyes intent as he watched Holmes's face, noting the lines of discomfort as he twitched slightly.

"Holmes?" He asked hopefully, and painfully slowly the detective's eyes slid open, blinking as he struggled to focus and wake properly. There was confusion and pain in the normally alert eyes, but Watson was reluctant to give him more medicine just yet. "Holmes you with me?" He asked sternly, knowing from experience that Holmes responded better to authority when injured – about the only time he would listen to anyone.

"So it would seem," the raspy voice made him wince lightly in sympathy, and he reached for the water that Mrs Hudson had brought up earlier.

"Let's get you some water," Watson's voice was gentler now, as he carefully eased the other man upright and held the cup of water to his lips. "Small sips," he encouraged as Holmes wearily obeyed, his eyes still fighting to stay open. Once the cup was empty, he lowered the detective back to the bed, and gently checked on the wound, aware of the increasingly mrsaware dark eyes following his every move. The wound was still raw, but at least the bleeding had stopped completely now, and there was no sign of infection. "It's looking alright," he said glancing up at the detective and reading the weariness in the pale face, the amount of blood that he had lost meant that it was likely he would be sleeping most of the time for the next few days.

    Moving away from the bed the doctor rubbed a hand over his face with a sigh before turning back to glare at his patient.

"Why didn't you tell me you were injured?" He demanded anger flooding his voice and Holmes glanced away for a second in the face of such anger, before turning back to face the other man.

"I didn't realise it was so bad," he croaked out, and Watson raised his eyebrow disbelievingly, and his eyes narrowed with suspicion. He knew from past experience that the detective was generally always aware of everything and that it took something of importance to distract him. And there was nothing that he could think of from the previous evening that was so important.

"You expect me to believe that?" He asked archly, determined not to let Holmes wiggle out of giving him the answers he needed.

"I was otherwise occupied," Holmes retorted weakly, struggling to keep his eyes open, and seeing this Watson softened slightly.

"Go to sleep Holmes," he ordered more gently, but it proved to be an unnecessary order as seconds later the detective was fast asleep once more. Sighing in exasperation, tinged with fondness the doctor moved across and straightened the covers before sinking back into the chair – pondering Holmes' last words.

*

    What neither man had noticed was Mary standing just outside the door, she had been about to enter to convince her husband to take a break from his diligent vigil. She was relieved to hear the detective's voice even if it was underlain by pain and tiredness, the sight of him slumped by the cabinet would be one that would haunt her for a while. She was unsurprised when John had confronted Holmes about keeping the wound secret, and she also heard Holmes last words before he dozed off once more, and she had a feeling that she knew what he meant. Frowning she moved away to sit on the sofa, offering Gladstone a comforting rub as she stared blankly at the bedroom door.

****

     The next time Holmes regained consciousness, he was surprised to find Mary sat at his bedside, and he could only blink as she reached across to apply a cold cloth to his forehead.

"John's having a brief rest," she said softly meeting his curious gaze with a small smile. "He didn't want you left alone, you have a slight fever, and he's worried about infection." Holmes frowned, that would explain why he felt worse than he had earlier. However, his dark eyes were caught by a dark stain on Mary's sleeve as she moved to retrieve the cloth and soak it again.

"You were the one who found me?" He asked quietly with some surprise, and she blinked before her own gaze moved down to her sleeve. Sighing she turned her gaze back to the detective with a rueful smile.

"I came to tell you off for John being more injured than you," there was a wry lilt to her voice and Holmes gave a small smile in response. "Imagine my surprise when I find out that the truth is the complete opposite."

"Indeed," Holmes murmured, and they fell silent for a couple of minutes, Holmes musing over Mary's actions and presence while she helped treat his fever. Mary, on the other hand, was reflecting on what he had said to John earlier.

"Thank you for caring about him above everything," she said eventually, and he stilled uneasily, his dark eyes shuttering as he met her grateful gaze. "But you must realise that he feels the same about you? That losing you again after Switzerland would destroy him?" She could see the doubt in Holmes' eyes, and she remembered his surprise at the emotions that both Watson's had expressed when he had revealed his return to the land of the living, and she knew that he didn't fully appreciate that they cared for him.

"Mary," the quiet voice of the doctor startled them out of their awkward silence, and they both looked somewhat guiltily towards the doorway, Holmes in particular looking put out that Watson had both snuck up on him but had also heard the somewhat revealing conversation. Mary recovered swiftly and got gracefully to her feet realising that John and Holmes needed a quiet moment, however, before she left she leant down and gave Holmes a gentle kiss.

"Thank you," she whispered before moving towards the door, stopping only briefly to touch her husband's arm with a small smile. When she was gone Watson turned back to Holmes who looked thoroughly startled from the sign of affection that Mary had given him and he had to fight back a smile.

"Please just promise me next time that you won't hide something this big," he said after a long moment his eyes intent as he stared at the detective and after a long moment Holmes gave a somewhat reluctant nod. Watson held back a sigh knowing that it was likely that the detective would 'forget' during the next adventure, before deciding that it was a price that was worthwhile paying.

"Still it seems that Mary likes you more now," he teased, and Holmes scowled but didn't attempt to contradict him.

"Indeed, it seems that we share a common point of interest," Holmes said blandly before closing his eyes as a clear indication that he didn't want to indulge in any more 'emotional' stuff. Smiling Watson retook his seat at Holmes' side, content that things would soon be back to normal…and internally relieved that his friend and wife were getting on better.

 


End file.
